


Make A Wish

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detectives, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Innuendo, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wealthy scientist Nate Richards has been shot, and the legendary sapphire he owned stolen. Noh Varr, a private investigator, is hired—not to track down his killer, but to exonerate one of the suspects. It all gets much messier than he'd expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make A Wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalisto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalisto/gifts).



> Thank you to MalevolentCosmicEntity, as usual, for patient beta work and telling me he liked this one a lot.
> 
> Based on this picture by Kalisto:

I knew Tom Shepherd was trouble from the moment I saw him. But it's a little early for that, isn't it?

So let's start at the beginning.

My name's Noh Varr. Used to be Varinsky, back in the old country, but the man at the immigration office couldn't spell it—he couldn't spell much of anything—so Varr it is. I'm a private eye. _Golden Eye Investigations._

And the vic's name was Nathaniel Richards.

I'd known Richards, as much as you ever know the man who pays you; he'd hired me to track down a stolen car a couple of years ago. Then, once I'd found it, he'd kept coming by for another two months to bring the secretary flowers. He was engaged at the time, but who am I to judge? The rich do what they like, while the rest of us get stuck doing what we can.

Good kid, though.

Wasn't my case—the cops don't like me much at the best of times—but his face had been splashed all over the front pages for a week now. SCIENCE SCION SHOT IN SAPPHIRE SNATCH. Terrible headline, but everyone was eating it up. Everyone included me, of course. I'll eat anything, and sometimes it's fun to watch the cops blunder through a thing when you're not involved yourself.

Then, of course, Altman brought in a new client, and everything went all to hell.

Altman's my partner; his old man was a good cop, back in the day when they had those. He'd always been cagey about his private life, but everyone's got their secrets—I'd just figured he was hiding away some hot little number and didn't want me horning in on it. Not that I'd do that, but you know how people get. Anyway, knowing Altman, All-American Boy like he is, I'd expected someone tall and blonde, with curves that'd be illegal in a baseball game.

I hadn't expected Willaim Eisenhart. And I could never have expected that meeting Willaim Eisenhart would put me on a case more troublesome than any I'd ever encountered before.

When I got to the office they were already there, and Cassie, my secretary, was looking scandalized in a way that said she was going to have some stories to tell on her lunch break. She smiled at me, though, a big smile, and I smiled back because that's what you do when you see something like that from a pretty girl. “Morning, sweetheart. What's the news?”

“Mr. Altman's here early.” She glanced back at the office, leaned over her desk, and whispered, “And he's brought a _man._ ”

“Has he?”

“They're in your office.”

“Now _that_ I wasn't expecting.”

“They said they've got a case for you.”

“That's new too, normally Altman's picking up _my_ slack. Thank you, darling, I'll go see what they want.”

I went into my office and Altman was slouched against the wall, his hands in his pockets, waiting for me. “Varr.”

“Altman.”

“We have a job for you, if you'll take it.”

“We?”

“Noh, this is—this is my friend. William Eisenhart.”

Altman's friend was sitting in the chair I kept for clients. He was a cute little guy, dark, with a shabby suit and a look like he knew the world's troubles. “It's nice to meet you, Mr. Varr.”

I twigged the accent. “Where ya from, William Eisenhart?”

“Poland.” His mouth twitched. “At first. But we weren't much wanted there.”

“Don't I know how that goes.” We shook hands, and I sat down. “So what's the job?”

Eisenhart coughed. “You've heard of the Richards murder, I presume? And the theft of the Marvel Sapphire?”

“Who hasn't? Papers won't let it drop.”

“What do you know about the suspects?”

“Not a damn thing. It's not my case.”

“One of the prime suspects is Thomas Shepherd. My brother.”

I started to catch on. “So did he do it?”

_“No.”_ Eisenhart grabbed the edge of my desk. “ _That_ is the job, Mr. Varr. My brother is innocent. He is no murderer, and no thief of jewels. You must prove it.”

“Must, eh?” I looked over at Altman. “You're almost as good as me, Altman. Why don't _you_ do it?”

He snorted. “High praise. I can't.”

“Don't see why not. He's your...friend.”

“And that's the problem.” Altman shifted, his hand brushing Eisenhart's shoulder. “None of my contacts'll listen to me. They say I'm too close to it.”

I watched him stand there, hovering close to Eisenhart but not really touching him, and said, “It's a tough situation.”

They didn't say anything back.

“Ok. I'll take the case. So tell me about your brother. You're William Eisenhart. He's Thomas Shepherd. Different name. Same father?”

Eisenhart let out a disgusted snort. “Of _course._ No, my brother...my brother has abandoned his name, has abandoned _all_ his prior names, and rejected the heritage we fled to this country to protect. He has fallen in with wicked men, Mr. Varr. A fast crowd, I believe you would say here.”

“I bet he's just breaking your mother's heart.”

That got a soft, bitter laugh—so the kid _could_ smile, though it didn't make him look any happier. “Oh, no, Mr. Varr. My mother's heart was broken a long time ago, and by men far worse than my brother.”

“Yeah?” I got out my cigarette case; Altman took one when I offered. “Anyone I'd know?”

Eisenhart didn't take a smoke, just glanced at my left arm. “They took away my grandfather and hunted my uncle through the woods like an animal, Mr. Varr, and they drove us from the country my mother grew up in. But from what Ted—Mr. Altman tells me, I think you'd know them better than I do.”

“That so.” I lit up. “You know, I knew an Eisenhart once, back...there. Tough old bastard. Iron in his bones.”

“Yes. That is what my mother used to tell me.”

“But so. Your brother. Why's he a suspect? What makes him so special?”

“You really haven't heard?” Eisenhart raised an eyebrow. “He was in love with Mr. Richards' fiancee.”

 

_\--_

 

I stopped by the precinct first, to chat up some connections.

“Katie Bishop?” Detective Barton coughed a laugh. “She's a caution. A real firecracker.”

“You know her?”

“Oh yeah. She wanted to be a cop, you know. One of _us._ Only Daddy threatened to cut her off. She's a great girl. Lotta energy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A rich socialite? Wanted to be a cop?”

“Well, I wouldn't call her a _socialite._ ” Barton drained his coffee. “More like a hawk than a butterfly.” And he got a stupid grin on his face—Barton's the kind of guy who falls hard for every pretty girl he meets. “But what's got _you_ so interested, Varr? A gumshoe like you? You looking to marry rich? Coz I don't think she'll be too interested right now.”

I ignored that. “Think she's the kind of girl who'd tell her boyfriend to shoot her fiance?”

“Wait.” He peered at me. “Who hired _you_ to look into the Richards case?”

“Tom Shepherd's brother.”

“Shoulda known it was something like that.” Barton laughd. “Shepherd's all noise and no action, and Katie Bishop's not that kind of girl. I don't think he did it. But of course it ain't up to me.”

“So who's it up to?”

“That would be me.”

I looked up into another familiar face. “How goes it, Detective Drew?”

“Not so well since you showed up.” She scowled at me. “Get out of my station before Lieutenant Danvers and I throw you out. And stay out of my way. The Richards case isn't any of your business.”

“It is if I'm being paid.” I grinned at her. “Shot any honest men lately, Detective? My shoulder still aches in cold weather.”

_“Get out.”_

So I got.

 

_\--_

 

Next up was Kate Bishop's place—Drew may have chased me out of the precinct, but not quick enough to stop Barton from slipping me the address. It led me to a sweet little townhouse in a cushy neighborhood, with a lilac-edged path and a purple two-seater parked out front. A nice place, though not what I would have expected from an heiress.

I knocked, and there was a pause, and the door opened a crack. “Who's there?”

“The name's Noh Varr. Is Miss Bishop at home?”

“Did Loki send you?”

“Don't know who that is, so I'll say no.”

I heard rustling, and then the door opened the rest of the way. “I'm Kate Bishop.”

I didn't whistle, but only because I'm not the whistling type. “Are you, then.”

She just looked at me, and I could see where maybe men would kill for her. Head to toe in black, with a veil on her hair, but she wore her mourning like a queen presiding over a killer's execution. Her lips were made up purple, and she had purple fingernails too, and in one hand she held a slim handgun.

I could have howled for her. But I'm not the howling type either.

She opened her perfect mouth and said, “Are you a reporter?”

A little too late, I took off my hat. “No, Miss Bishop. I'm a private investigator. My name is Noh Varr; I'm sorry to intrude.”

“No you're not.” She looked my over as if she were checking for weak points. “You'd better come in, then.”

 

_\--_

 

As the door closed behind me she said, “I'd offer you a drink, Mr. Varr, but I don't partake myself, so there's nothing in the house. There's coffee if you want some, though, and you're welcome to sit if you like.”

“Coffee would be wonderful, Miss Bishop, thank you.”

Her sitting room was just as dark as her, but the chairs were comfortable. I gestured to the gun. “Expecting company, Miss Bishop?”

“Maybe I just like to be prepared.” She set it down on the table, poured us both coffee, and sat herself. “Who hired you to look into my fiance's murder, Mr. Varr? Because it certainly wasn't me.”

I put my hat on top of her gun. “Tom Shepherd's brother. Thinks he's innocent. Wants me to prove it.”

She didn't blink, but in a very blinking kind of way. “I didn't know Tom had a brother.”

“Until this morning I didn't know he _existed._ You know Tom pretty well?”

“As well as you can know any man you don't love.”

“ _Don't_ love, is it? He the jealous type, you think?”

“Did he shoot Nate, you mean?”

“I suppose I do.”

She laughed. “Tom wouldn't shoot _anyone_ for me. Of course he didn't. I know that for certain.”

“Do you, though?”

“I do.” The laughter was gone just as suddenly as it had come. “Tom didn't kill my fiance, Mr. Varr. He's a fool, but he's not _that_ foolish. No one would ever have shot Nate out of jealousy.”

“And why's that?”

She watched me for a moment and then settled back in her chair. “Because Nate and I weren't in love, and he knew it.”

_That_ wasn't what I'd expected at all. I set down my coffee, real slow. “That so.”

“It's so.” She took a long, slow sip of her own coffee, her lips purple on the rim of the cup. “Nate was a close friend, nothing more.”

“Not really a story to make me think you didn't want him dead. Why were you marrying the guy if you didn't love him?”

“It was a marriage of convenience, Mr. Varr. He needed to look respectable. I needed help.”

“Help?”

“I'm a woman in love, Mr. Varr, but I wasn't in love with Nate Richards.” She flicked something at me, and I caught it—an open locket, one side engraved _'Eli,'_ the other side a portrait of a handsome Negro. “Nate knew. And he knew that my father disapproves. I had no reason to want Nate dead; he was helping me to live my life away from my father's control. He was a good man.”

I gave her back her locket. Her hand brushed mine as she took it, warm and soft, and for a moment it seemed like maybe she needed comforting. And maybe I wanted to offer her some comfort. “Why tell _me,_ Miss Bishop? Hardly seems safe.”

She smiled violet. “Because I'm leaving town tomorrow, Mr. Varr. With Eli. I don't see why I should have to live a lie, now that Nate's gone.”

“I guess I can understand that. So Tom Shepherd didn't shoot your fiance. What about the Sapphire? Did he steal it?”

“He might have, but I don't believe he did. Tom Shepherd's a good man too. He's just lost his way a bit.” She took another sip of coffee. “Not that I'd blame him. It's an extraordinary stone.”

“So I've heard. A star sapphire big as a man's fist. That's pretty impressive. Why do they call it the Marvel, do you think?”

“They say it grants wishes.” She glanced out the window. “Not that it did Nate any good.”

We finished our coffees, and as I got up to go I realized that I had one more question. “Who's Loki?”

Kate Bishop went stiff. “Excuse me?”

“Loki. You asked if I was from Loki, earlier. Who's that?”

“Oh, yes. He's a business associate of Nate's. He said his employer was interested in the Sapphire. He's...distasteful, to say the least, I was worried that he might have sent someone to try to extract the Sapphire's location from me.”

“Sounds like a charming character.”

“Oh, definitely. I won't say I've met men like him, but...”

“But?”

“But I've met men like him.”

 

_\--_

 

I spent the rest of the day checking out Tom Shepherd's usual haunts, but he wasn't in any of them—the guy was apparently hard to get a hold of. Everyone knew him, nobody could tell me where to find him. Not a thing to inspire confidence. Eventually, too, I got bored of searching, so I made a quick stop by my office, just to finish off the day's affairs before hitting the hay.

When I got there Cassie was looking shocked again, and this time angry too. She didn't look up at me, just said, “There's a man waiting for you in your office.”

I watched her type for a moment. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“He wants to talk to you.” She stabbed at the keys. “I don't like him.”

“Sorry to hear that, sweetheart. I'll go move him along.”

She handed me a business card. “He gave me this for you.”

The card just said _'Loki Laufeysson.'_ In green ink.

The man himself was sitting in my office, reading a book. Well, I _say_ man, but he looked like a kid—couldn't have been more'n eighteen. He was wearing a green suit, same shade as the ink on his business card, and he had a gold ring in his ear. Maybe he could have been a sailor, but I didn't think so.

He stood up and held out a hand. “The famous Mr. Varr, I presume.”

“That I am.” We shook. “You're Loki Laufeysson.”

“The one and only.”

When I sat down I noticed that one of my desk drawers was open. I hadn't _left_ it open. There were things out of place on my desk. “What can I do for you, Mr. Laufeysson?”

He sat forward. “I'm looking for a certain stone for my employer, Mr. Varr. I think you know which one.”

“Can't say that I do. Why don't you enlighten me?”

“The Marvel Sapphire.”

“What about it?”

“I want it. For my employer.”

“A lot of people want the thing, kid, that's why it's been stolen.”

“But _you_ know where it is.”

“Now where'd you get a silly notion like that?”

“Kate Bishop gave it to you.”

“She might've done, if she had it. But she doesn't have it, and neither do I.”

The kid grimaced, and his hand twitched toward his coat. “Don't joke with me, Mr. Varr. My employer's not a patient man.”

I slid my own hand down toward my gun. “When I start telling jokes I'll let you know.”

We both waited for the other one to move first, and the tension was enough that I could practically hear it rattling the windows.

Then, suddenly, Loki said, “All right, then. I'll give you two days to deliver the Sapphire. You have my card.”

“Hasn't got anything on it but your name, kid, I don't know what you want me to do with it.”

“I'm sure you'll find me.” He smirked, and I wanted to punch him. “That's what you do, right?”

I changed my mind. That was _definitely_ a face to punch. But he left in a hurry, so I couldn't quite get to it.

 

_\--_

 

The run-in with Loki left an understandably sour taste in my mouth, so I sent Cassie home and closed up shop myself. I thought about stopping for a drink on the way back to my apartment, but decided against it. Had to keep a clear head. Who knew what was lurking around, with characters like Loki showing up and harassing honest businessmen.

I got back to my place early, then, shrugged off my overcoat, locked the door, and a voice behind me said, “I hear you were looking for me.”

I turned around. “Eisenhart didn't tell me you were twins.”

Tom Shepherd was one hell of a sight for sore eyes. For the most part he looked just like his brother, but he'd bleached his hair so pale it was almost white. His eyes were green like envy, and they had a bruised look, like he had some secret sorrow. He was sitting on my couch, bold as you please in an outfit that looked like it'd seen better days. “My brother doesn't tell anyone much. He lives out his days dreaming about a life we never really had.”

“And what about you?”

“I prefer to live my life moving forward.” He flicked his hair out of his eyes. “But anyway. You must be Noh Varr.”

“That's me.” I hadn't even gotten to hang up my hat yet, so I took care of that. “So what brings _you_ here?”

“You were looking for me. You tell me.”

“I was looking for you, but it's a little different when you break into my apartment. You shoot Nate Richards?”

“Not I. I didn't like Nate much, but I didn't want him dead.”

“All right, then. Where's the Marvel Sapphire?”

Now Tom looked disturbed, a little. “I was hoping _you_ could tell _me_. _You're_ the one working with Loki.”

I snorted. “You keep saying things like _that_ and you'll hurt my feelings, kid.”

“But Kate told you where it is.”

“Don't know where everyone's getting that idea from. Scotch?”

“Please.”

I turned to my drinks cabinet, pour him his drink, and when I turned back he'd gotten up and was standing a lot closer. “Something you wanted?”

He took his drink. “Help me find the Sapphire. Hide me here.”

“Why should I?”

And he gave me a look that would've made the Archangel Michael throw away his flaming sword and seriously consider the benefits of falling and said, “I can make it worth your while.”

I wanted to ask him to convince me.

But I'm a _professional_.

I said, “You know, there are states where you could get arrested for making a man an offer like that.”

He smiled, and his eyes were full of fire. “If I thought you were the kind of man who'd arrest me, I wouldn't have made it.”

“What kind of a man do you _think_ I am?”

“I think you're the kind of man I like.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You suggest this sort of thing often, then?”

“When I think it'll get me somewhere I want to go.”

“And what if I took you up on it?”

“Are you thinking about it?”

“Maybe I am.”

“Well.” He looked pleased. “Then I guess I'd be _fucked_ wouldn't it?”

I hooked a finger in his necktie, pulling him in so close that I could smell the scotch on his breath. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

He licked a droplet of scotch off the rim of his glass.

I watched him do it, watched his pink tongue trace the edge of my good crystal, and wondered idly if Hell had decent liquor.

He said, “I do a lot of things with my mouth.”

_Why don't you show me some of them._ “Well, I'm not interested in any of them.” I let go of his tie.

He stepped away. He looked impressed. “You're a good man, Mr. Varr.”

“No, I'm a very bad one. But I've got a job to do.” I ran a hand through my hair. Another minute there and I would've been a _lost_ man, and probably very happy about it. “I need a drink myself.”

I turned away to pour myself a drink to match his, although unfortunately mine wouldn't have _him_ attached to it.

I heard him put his glass down.

_Click_.

_That_ was a sound I knew too well. I stood up very straight. “I don't think you want to do this, Tom.”

“The Sapphire.” His voice was shaking. “I need it. Tell me where it is.”

“I—”

“Put your hands up!”

It meant leaving my scotch, but I did what he said. “I don't _know_ where it is, kid. All I ever got asked to do is prove you're not a killer, and you're not making that too easy on me right now.”

“You're _lying!_ ”

He was upset. Off-balance. I saw my chance and I took it, turning quick and grabbing his wrist. He gasped, and I took the gun out of his hand and threw it into the corner of the room. “Don't play with guns, Tom. Someone could get seriously hurt.”

He tried to punch me with his free hand, but I blocked him, grabbing his other wrist.

He was quivering. “I'm not a killer. I'm _not_.”

“Then don't pull _guns_ on people.”

“They'll never catch Loki. I'll get framed. They'll _gas_ me.”

“They'll try. Take a breath before you pass out, kid, I believe you.”

He wasn't a killer. I could see it. He wasn't any kind of angel, that was for certain, but he wasn't a killer.

“Breathe,” I said. “Nobody's getting gassed.”

He was still shaking. “You'll help me?”

“Maybe you convinced me you're worth a shot.”

 

_\--_

 

When I woke up in the morning, the bedroom window was open and Tom Shepherd was gone. And the room was a mess, or more of a mess than we'd left it. _Someone_ had rifled through all my things. I _didn't_ want to say it was Tom, but then there are a lot of things in the world that I don't want. Doesn't stop them from happening.

I dressed and left my room.

The front of the apartment was wrecked too—drawers pulled out, cabinets hanging open, things flung all over. And _Loki_ was sitting at the table with a gun in his hand.

I was still in my shirtsleeves, so all I could do was raise my hands. “Thought you said I had two days.”

“That was before I caught you making time with Tom Shepherd.” Loki waved at the open cabinet. “I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of checking to make sure he didn't leave the Sapphire behind.”

I was starting to get tired of this. “Why should I mind? What's got you all riled up about the thing, anyway?”

Loki shrugged. “They say it grants wishes. I could use a wish or two.”

“Didn't do Nate Richards any good.”

“Yes, well, I'm afraid I helped things along a bit there.”

“What'd you do with Tom?”

“Nothing. He ran as soon as I got here.” He stood up. “Come on, let's go.”

“Were we going somewhere?”

“Your office. Hurry it up.”

I drove—however Loki had gotten to my apartment, it hadn't been by car. The little creep held a gun on me the whole way over. All I could do was wonder how many people he'd already shot with it; he had a better hold on it than Tom'd had on his. An easy, familiar grip, the one of a man used to killing.

At the office I found Altman standing frozen in the corner, and William Eisenhart sitting at Cassie's desk. He had his hands on the blotter, and a woman in green was holding a gun to his head.

He said, “Mr. Varr. I take it you've found proof that my brother is innocent?”

“You could say that.”

“This woman tells me you are in...cahoots with him. To hide the Marvel Sapphire.” The kid sounded calm, but he was trembling like a rabbit in front of a hunter. “Is that true?”

“Not even a little. Or, well, maybe we're in _cahoots_ , as you put it, but we don't have the Sapphire.”

Altman moved forward a bit. “Well, if that's the case, I'm sure we can talk this through reason—”

“Stay put or I pop him, loverboy.” The dame hadn't spoken before; she had a nice voice for a gun moll. “Unless _you_ know where the Sapphire is.”

“You're in the wish market too I take it.”

“You can shut up or tell us something _useful_ , Varr.”

“Hey, Laufeysson, is _she_ your employer?”

Loki just cocked his gun.

“Well, since I don't know anything you want to find out, it looks like I'm going to stay quiet for quite a while here.”

Loki grinned. “Quiet forever, if you don't tell us where the Sapphire is. But don't worry, even if _you_ don't tell us, we'll get it out of these two. Or Shepherd.”

There was a knock at the door.

The little creep gestured with his gun. “Answer it. No sudden moves, please.”

I moved towards the door, keeping my hands out where they could be seen. “Who is it?”

“Quicksilver Delivery Service, package for Varr.”

The moll straightened up. “It's the Sapphire!”

The door burst open, Loki and his moll jumped forward, and there was one loud shot.

Whoever the shooter was, the fake delivery boy—I couldn't see him for beans—he did at least half the trick. Loki went flying back, a bullet in his shoulder. Altman and I took advantage of the confusion; he grabbed the moll and took her gun away, I disarmed Loki and sat on him. Wasn't too comfortable, but I made do.

I nodded to Eisenhart. “There actually a package?”

He got up, pop-eyed and breathless, and went to check. “There is a box. But it's empty. Mr. Varr...”

“Cute. Wonder who thought that trick up.”

“Mr. Varr, Quicksilver is the company for which...I know a man who works there. You know him too.”

“Huh. Never thought he had it in him.”

 

_\--_

 

We called the cops to come clean up the mess, which they were more than happy to do. Barton and Drew turned up on the heels of the first patrol car, too. Barton looked pretty pleased, Drew not so much. “Thought I told you to keep out of my case.”

“Trust me, Detective, I did what I could, but it just kept getting in my way. Anyway, can't bear to disappoint a customer.” I got out my cigarette case. “Why don't we celebrate me doing your job for you and almost getting shot. Smoke?”

“Put that away, Varr.” She looked inches away from knocking it out of my hand. Granted, she always looked like that, but I put it away anyway. No sense in scratching a good cigarette case. “You're going to have to come down to the precinct to answer a few questions.”

“Thought you said you never wanted to see my face there again, Detective. You going soft on me?”

“I'm making an exception, just this once. Never again, though.”

Barton was talking to Eisenhart at the other end of the room, while Altman waited just behind Eisenhart's shoulder like the good boy he was. “You say you were here for the whole thing?”

“Yes.” Eisenhart nodded, moving back toward Altman. “I saw everything that happened.”

“No,” I said before Drew could ask me. “None of us saw the shooter.”

 

\--

 

We gave statements, Loki and his moll got charged with the murder of Nate Richards and locked up, and I thought that was the last of it. The case was pretty cut and dry, especially when Kate Bishop turned up at the station to tell Detective Drew what she knew. We were out of the precinct by nightfall and it wasn't my problem anymore. My job was done.

Barton caught me on the way out, though. “Any news on that sapphire? That one's still a mystery.”

“Don't ask me, Barton, I haven't the foggiest. I figure it's been fenced by now.”

The next few days were quiet for business. We had one or two straying husbands, a couple of missing people. Altman found a diamond necklace for a socialite mid-week and then took the rest of the week off on the profits, and I figured he needed a break. I didn't ask who he was going to spend the time with, and he didn't tell me.

Come Saturday, though, I was just finishing a leisurely breakfast when someone knocked on the door of my apartment.

I frowned. “Who's there?”

“Quicksilver Delivery Service. Package for Varr.”

The name rang a bell.

I opened the door, and there he was. Tom Shepherd, in uniform and _actually_ carrying a package, which I hadn't expected.

I looked him up and down. “Do I sign for this one, or is it a present?”

He smirked. “You can sign if you like.”

“Well, you'd better come in, then.”

Once the door was shut he handed me the box, and I opened it up, already knowing what was inside.

It _was_ pretty impressive—a sapphire the size of a hand grenade, dark blue, with a white star blazing in the center. It shone through the whole room as it came out of the box. “How'd you find it?”

He shrugged. “I know people. It wasn't too hard to track down.”

“Or you had it stashed this whole time.”

“Maybe. Maybe I didn't.”

“Maybe you're a liar and I should call the cops right now.”

“You could, but then I wouldn't be here anymore.”

“And wouldn't that be a shame.” The sapphire practically glowed. It lit up both of our faces as we spoke. “Why bring it to me?”

“You helped me, Mr. Varr. You could have sold me to the cops, or to Loki, but you didn't.”

“I've still got time to reconsider. So why'd you want it? What makes it so special?”

He watched it in my hand, looked up to meet my eyes, and said, “Well. They say it grants wishes.”

“Does it, then?” And I grabbed him round the waist with my free arm. “Got any wishes you'd like to make?”

He smiled up at me. “You're not a good man at all, are you, Mr. Varr.”

“Not at all. I'm very selfish.”

“I like that.”

“Well, then.” I put down the sapphire. “Make a wish.”


End file.
